


to fall in deep

by decideophobia



Series: tumblr fics [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning After, One Night Stands, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decideophobia/pseuds/decideophobia
Summary: “the guy i fucked last night woke up this morning, disoriented and looked at me, and said "oh, you're hot." and went back to sleep.”





	to fall in deep

**the guy i fucked last night woke up this morning, disoriented and looked at me, and said "oh, you're hot." and went back to sleep.**

Stiles scrubs his hands over his face. It’s still awfully early, too early to be awake, but his brain decided to snap out if a peaceful slumber, and now he’s sitting up in a bed that isn’t his, covered in light green sheets. There’s a guy lying next to him, on his stomach, hugging the pillow, and Stiles lets his eyes wander of the wide planes of his back, the tattoo between his shoulder blades, the dimples on his lower back. His face is turned away from Stiles, but Stiles still remembers: the sharp cheekbones with the impeccable stubble, a chiseled jaw, strong eyebrows and a set of eyes that stripped Stiles bare in a way that was both scary and hot. 

All things considered, last night was a success. 

Still, Stiles doesn’t usually fall asleep in the beds of his one-night-stands, never stays over, and he can’t believe he did last night. But the guy--Derek, his name’s Derek--asked him, softly, between open-mouthed, hot kisses to Stiles’ throat, and Stiles forgot the word no even existed. Which--what. This hasn’t ever happened before. Usually, it’s easy to say no; Stiles doesn’t like the awkward morning afters.

So he looks at Derek one last time, and sighs. Derek is something like a walking wet dream, and the sex was mind-blowing. Stiles wouldn’t mind another round, or ten, but Derek’s still sleeping, and Stiles broke one of his principles already. He won’t be the creeper who stared at Derek while he slept, which would probably reduce the chances of a repeat performance. If they ever ran into each other again, that is. 

Stiles grips the sheet to throw it back and climb out of bed when Derek snuffles--he snuffles, Stiles is going to _die_ \--shifts, head turning to Stiles. He blinks against the early morning sunlight, eyes small. His hair is a mess, there’s the imprint of the pillow’s creases on his cheek: Stiles is sure he’s pretty much ruined forever. This is it. He’s wrecked. This shouldn’t be happening. It was just a one-night-stand.

Derek squints at him sleepily. “God,” he says, voice sleep-rough. “You’re hot.”

Stiles is pretty sure his brain can’t quite decide where to send all his blood: to his face or to his cock. 

“Um,” Stiles says intelligently, fighting the urge to card a hand through Derek’s hair. 

Derek nuzzles into his pillow again, eyes drooping shut. “Mhm,” he hums. “Thought the alcohol induced an obscene fantasy ‘bout your eyes. And your mouth. And just--you.”

Stiles stares at him, helplessly. 

“Not a fantasy,” Derek points out, soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He blinks his eyes open again, reaches out to grab Stiles’ hand. Derek twines the fingers together, rubs his thumb over Stiles’ skin, and it feels perfect; feels like something he’s done before, like it’s natural. 

“I don’t like to be objectified,” Stiles says, because that’s the first thing his brain supplies. 

Derek laughs softly, closing his eyes again, as he brings their joined hands to his lips, presses a tender kiss on Stiles’ knuckles. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, lips grazing the skin of Stiles’ hand. It sends shivers down Stiles’ vertebrae. 

Stiles lies back down, on his back, their hands in the space between them, and he turns his head to look at Derek, whose features have relaxed again, peaceful, as he drifts off to sleep one more time. 

“Stay,” Derek asks quietly, voice petering out into a sleepy slur. 

So Stiles stays, because apparently, he can’t say no to Derek.


End file.
